


Let's Go, Don't Wait

by goodnightfern (orphan_account)



Series: falling up 'verse [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Date, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, M/M, bubonic plague jokes, double the steak double the fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 09:51:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6001597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/goodnightfern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who knows why Lucifer suddenly cares about Valentine's Day. But Sam has a plan. And maybe it involves a little bit of wining and dining, but that's cool. Come to think about it, they've never really done this sort of thing before. They're probably gonna fuck it all up.</p><p>(this may be fluff, but I suppose it's part of the falling up!verse.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Go, Don't Wait

**Author's Note:**

> blink 182 title because I am shameless  
> Warnings for uhhh children's rhymes abt the plague.  
> And yes, St Valentine was also associated with beekeepers in addition to plague and epilepsy, Heya castiel.
> 
> Ok happy valentines day

"Bubonic plague," Sam repeats incredulously.

"Ring around the rosey, a pocket full of posey," Lucifer says in laconic sing-song. "I think St. Valentine also presided over epilepsy as well. Do you guys have any patron saints for Ebola today? Nursery rhymes about HIV?"

"Uh, no. It's not the dark ages anymore." One hand waves towards the riot of pink and red candy bins while the other grabs a bag of spinach. The Thriftway merchandising team have been working hard. Not a single aisle of the supermarket is missing a red heart-shaped sign or a champagne display. "It's all about selling as many Hallmark cards as possible now."

Lucifer looks thoughtfully up at the Garfield balloon he's been dragging around since the bakery department. It's gonna be tough getting him to leave it behind, but Sam has absolutely no intention of actually buying it. Garfield smirks with half-lidded eyes over a lace-edged chocolate box, leering down at Sam.

But these days Lucifer's got his own pocket change, enough to buy the damn balloon whether Sam likes it or not.

Balloons start showing up everywhere in the bunker. Sam ignores it. Dean pops every one he finds. Cas thinks they're funny, the little shit. and Lucifer feigns wide-eyed innocence even when Sam catches him red-handed tying a floating Snoopy to a showerhead. Even Cas becomes an accidental accomplice when his brother gives him a box of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles valentines. Dean comes to Sam one day with a desperate expression and a grocery list that reads You're Cowabunga Cool, Valentine! "Your fucking boyfriend bought him these," he accuses. "Now make it stop."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Talk to him. Lock him in the car when you go shopping. I dunno, Sam. He's your problem," says Dean. His eyes are darting nervously around Sam's room. Floating cartoon characters dressed in banners reading I LUV U. Yeah, Sam's been keeping the lights off lately. Pretending it doesn't exist.

"He's just into it, man. I think it's good for him."

"What is good about this?"

Dean's just being an ass. Lucifer gets excited about the stupidest human shit. Whatever he deems ironic enough. A saint of plague victims now presides over Cadbury chocolate and balloons - there's some inherent humor in that Sam can understand. But yeah, it's getting to be a little too much, and anytime Sam brings up the tacky Valentine's decorations Lucifer just starts tugging Sam's hair to distract him because he's actually a kindergartener. Who just happens to be six billion years old and literally Satan.

Well, Sam can fight fire with fire.

By some miracle Sam gets reservations for the 14th. It's a small place tucked in a strip mall. all gussied up for the holiday into a real suburban fantasy of European elegance with steak _au poivre_ and live jazz. They get the red pleather booth with a dozen roses on the plastic-draped table. All around baby boomers blush over Coors in crystal glasses. Stifled waiters carry plates of well-done steak and _frites_ as the band starts up the smoothest hits of an elevator in the 1980's. The special print-out isn't big enough to fill the plastic menu cover and features clip-art of naked winged infants, and nearly every item on the special Valentine's menu has a pun in the name. For once Lucifer's electric pink tie looks appropriate against his fed suit. He taps his wineglass with his fork, indicating that he would like it filled to the brim.

"Nope, not quite there yet," Lucifer tells the poor waiter. "Little more." Sam tries to make sympathetic faces, but the kid just rolls his eyes and leaves the bottle of Sutter Home at the table. "See?" Lucifer nods at Sam. "That's more like it. That's customer service."

"Oh, like you know anything about that."

"I know that if I order a glass of wine, I should get a glass of wine. Why are you smiling like that?"

"Shut up. Figure out what you want to eat."

"I don't have to decide. We'll take the Cupid's Feast for two, right?"

Roasted beet salad with blue cheese and soggy candied walnuts. Pasta a la Linguine con Pomo-amore, whatever the fuck that even means. The French onion soup comes charred, burnt cheese sticking to the rim, and tastes like Lipton. But the steak is fantastic, cooked perfectly to order beneath a crust of black pepper. Lucifer devours his steak in about ten seconds and then eyes Sam's. Sam crosses his knife and fork over protectively. "Just get another one."

Lucifer actually snaps his fingers at a waiter. It isn't even theirs, the girl's juggling waters and champagne refills for a table on the other side of the room. Her eyes widen in panic when she realizes she's the object of attention.

Sam hisses through his teeth. "Dude, you can't just call them over like that."

"What? It's their job to provide for us."

"You're don't snap at them like animals. They aren't slaves, okay, they're working hard."

"Very hard. I can see that," Lucifer says, pouring the last of the bottle. "I trust them to do their job, and do it well."

"Then treat them with respect."

Yeah, they're still working on that. But now isn't the time for a whole philosophical discussion. Leaning back in the booth, Lucifer raises a hand like he's about to say something then drops it. Studies Sam with confusion on his brow. "I see," he says finally. "It's all about the charade. Keeping up the facade. That's what this whole night is about. Just like the balloons, right?" Before Sam can ask what the fuck that means the waiter's at the table, notepad in hand. Lucifer is smiling sheepishly and apologizing for disturbing her. Asks if it wouldn't be too much trouble to request another one of those fabulous steaks. It's schmaltzy and over-the-top but it works. The girl grins and brushes back a strand of hair, scribbling on her notepad, and asks if they'd like some extra steak sauce on the side. Sam hides his face in his wineglass when Lucifer gives him a triumphant grin.

Once he's gotten started, Lucifer just keeps going. Plays it up to such ridiculous levels Sam gives up and just giggles through dinner. Twining fingers across the table, Lucifer telling the server who refreshes their bread basket about his handsome young man. He asks for dessert recommendations, oohs and ahhs. "Those all sound lovely, thank you, but I'd like to know your personal favorite. Only the sweetest for my sweet," he says, tossing heart eyes across the table, and the girl actually blushes down at her feet. They get a slice of cheesecake the size of a small mountain with a fresh carafe of port, and then since Lucifer sounded so interested a modest wedge of devil's food cake comes on the house.

Devil's food cake. Fucking _great._

Wine-drunk, Sam barks a laugh and then catches himself. "You fucker," he wheezes. Lucifer airplanes a bite of chocolate his way and he swats it out of his face, not even noticing when it drops on his pants. By the time they make it out of the restaurant his cheeks are red and his hair won't stay out his face. Lucifer leans on him heavily, and wow, are they really gonna drive all the way back?

"We don't have to right now," Lucifer replies, and Sam didn't even realize he was speaking aloud. They saunter around the strip mall in the frosty evening, swaying past other departing couples. Lucifer steals a quarter from a defunct water fountain and slips it in Sam's pocket. Swaying onto a bench, Sam pulls Lucifer's head under his own and just leans. "We could just stay here," Lucifer says faintly. "Sleep on this bench."

"There's a bed at the bunker," Sam offers, burying his nose in blonde hair. "A real... real big bed. Mmm. Yeah, I miss our bed."

"If we go back..." Lucifer starts. Stops. Turns his head so he can muffle his words into Sam's collarbone. "We don't have to go back."

"Well... where you wanna go?"

"It doesn't matter. Just keep going."

"You're drunk," Sam laughs.

"So are you."

They make out for a minute, sloppy.

"I mean," Lucifer says when he draws back for air, "that this. This whole thing. I want it to keep going. Have we ever done this before?"

"Done what?"

"You and me... we're just. Here! Alone. Not on a hunt. Dean and Castiel are back at the bunker. We're not going back there yet. I'm not finished with this."

Holy shit. Sam lifts his head in sudden epiphany.

This is their first date. They didn't go to that restaurant because they were starving and it was near the motel, they went there because Sam planned it. To have a nice romantic meal with his god damn man. No cooking or cleanup or microwaving required. No Dean and Cas tagging around. No hunt on the horizon. Shit. The last time Sam did anything like this he was with Amelia. Not like Sam ever felt any pressure to show literal fucking Satan a good time. They've just been... doing their thing. But dating? Relationship stuff?

Lucifer is looking at him quizzically. Sam bites his nose just to see that you-crazy-human look on his face, the flinch and the drawback. But he's giving in, letting Sam see one of those rare smiles without anything malicious. behind it. Curling back into his arms again, curious kisses on Sam's collarbone.

Eight months? Nine? since their first kiss, since whatever-this-is became a regular thing, and they're still on their first date.

This is them. Their normal. As ludicrous as it gets, it couldn't be any other way.

By the time they make it back to the bunker the sky is turning pink. Dean and Cas are snoring in a heap of take-out containers beneath a looping DVD title screen. They're a little too loud tiptoeing past, and Sam slams the bedroom door on accident. Garfield and the rest of the balloons are deflated and exhausted by now. Likewise, Sam is too wasted for sex no matter how much Lucifer sucks his collarbone. Save it for the morning or the third date or whatever tradition dictates the good people do.

All things considered, they are pretty good. Nowhere to go but up.

It might take time, but there's plenty of that to go around.


End file.
